


Enchanted

by keep_me_alone



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Cheesy, Clark is gay, First Dates, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meet-Cute, Romance, bruce is bisexual, don't look at me I'm in a weird mood, just a few chapters, no capes just civilian ids, silliness, this isn't going to be smut, this probably isn't going to be very long, tooth rotting fluff probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 13:45:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13078128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_me_alone/pseuds/keep_me_alone
Summary: Clark Kent meets Bruce Wayne. Sparks fly, but complications arrive mostly in the form of Dick Grayson who won't behave.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been listening to too much Taylor Swift  
> Also please listen to Miranda by Adam West bc there will be a few references to that lmaooooo

Clark wasn’t always asked to go out into the field for his job. Well… his day job. He is a therefore a little surprised to find himself at Wayne manor, tasked with reporting on one of Bruce Wayne’s famous parties. He might moonlight as an Earth-saving alien, but truly he’s a country boy at heart, and events like this make him uncomfortable. Clark isn’t quite sure why he’s been given this assignment, but he suspects that it was Lois’ idea of a joke. But regardless, here he is, stuffed into a rented tux, shiny black shoes, and slightly crooked black bowtie. He pulls at the tie uncomfortably, and skews it further. Clark is acutely aware that he does not fit in with these creatures of wealth and grace.

Bruce is across the ballroom from Clark, having just entered with Tim and Dick beside him. Generally, he also dislikes these kinds of functions, but this one is special. It is an event to formally celebrate bringing Tim Drake-Wayne into the family and Bruce could not be prouder. He stops for a moment, pulling both boys close for pictures, smiling broadly. It is easy to smile at times like these. He releases the kids.

“Go socialize, have fun.” He turns to Dick, “not _too_ much fun,” he finishes with a meaningful look. Dick grins toothily at him.

“Yessir.”

“And don’t abandon Tim.” Dick sighs loudly, grabbing Tim’s arm, and dragging him into the crowd.

“Come on Timmy, let’s go find some champagne.”

“You _will not_!” Bruce calls after them. He is still smiling fondly, a little foolishly. It is unusual for him, pleasant though. If he is being truthful, it is also probably facilitated by the whiskey he’d been drinking prior to coming down.

Bruce turns to say something meaningless to a man who’d asked him a question. It is all the usual, tired lines and mostly faked smiles. He sees a reporter taking notes, crooked bowtie and nerdy glasses that betray him even in his formal wear. They make eye contact, and suddenly Bruce’s slight smile is real again. The reporter’s eyes are a bright, electric blue, and entirely captivating.

Clark watches the photos and subsequent exchange from across the room, scribbling down some notes for later. He glances up as Dick and Tim wander away, noting their positions, thinking he’ll speak to them later. He happens to look up though, just as Bruce Wayne looks his way. Music is playing in the background, something soft and sweet. It swells as their eyes meet, and Clark damn near forgets how to breathe. Everything is soft, and light, and beautiful. Bruce gives him a look that seems to say ‘have we met?’, all hooded eyes and tilted chin. Clark realizes he’s staring, and drops his gaze back to his notes, fumbling with them even as a blush spreads across his cheeks. He looks up again, and now Wayne is moving through the crowd towards him. Not directly of course. He stops every few feet to quickly greet various guests, shaking their hands and moving on. But he’s definitely headed Clark’s way, something predatory in the slope of his shoulders, the way he parts the crowd with ease.

Absurdly, Clark wonders if he can just leave, go home. He’s nervous, and Wayne isn’t even anywhere near him yet. Clark’s entire job is to try and interview this man! He should be delighted. Instead, he feels a strange mix of fear, awe, and something he can’t quite name. Then, as he is just getting his notebook into the small pocket of his dress pants, a pair of stylish, extremely shiny shoes enter his field of vision. Clark looks up slowly, feeling his heartbeat pick up. The shoes belong to Bruce Wayne.

“Mr Wayne,” Clark’s eyes are large and round. They tell you about Bruce Wayne’s money, they tell you about his generosity and political causes, but no one ever seems to mention that he is also devastatingly handsome. Again, Clark is staring. Wayne smiles at him, just a flash of perfect white teeth.

“I don’t think we’ve met. You can call me Bruce,” he extends his hand, and Clark takes it. He is thinking that they are almost exactly the same height. “What can I call you?” Clark blushs again, remembering to shake the hand instead of just holding it as he had been doing.

“Clark Kent,” he says, withdrawing his hand.

“Well Clark Kent, are you here to ask me some questions? You’ll want to do that before I get to drunk.” Bruce’s poker face is excellent.

“Is that a joke?” Clark ventures, a little concerned. Bruce gives him another look that Clark can’t decipher as anything but flirtatious, and sips his champagne.

“Unfortunately,” Bruce replies wryly. “Someone has to look after the children.”

“You don’t have a butler to do that?” Clark replies lightly, without thinking, and is immediately ashamed of the words as he says them. Ma would scold him for rudeness, but Bruce just laughs.

“Of course, but I also have to keep up appearances.” Clark is pretty sure he’s in love.

“Would you mind if I asked you a few questions for the Planet?” Bruce almost sighs, and turns one of his cufflinks.

“If you must.” Clark is amazed that no one has dragged him away, and or out of the party yet, and figures he’d better ask before Bruce disappears. Still, he has the feeling that he’s lost something precious. He brushes the thought away. He does have a job to do.

“Would you mind telling me a little bit about Timothy Drake-Wayne? What is he like? What is he interested in? Does he get along with Richard?”

“First of all, It’s Tim and Dick.” Bruce tells him. He thinks for a moment about what he can say about their relationship. It isn’t always easy to talk around the capes and masks. He also doesn’t know exactly how much of this he wants in a newspaper. “You’d have to ask them about their relationship. Careful though, Dick’s protective.” He doesn’t mention why this is. Between them is the unspeakable presence of Jason’s ghost. “Tim is a very intelligent young man. He’s an excellent photographer too. Maybe he’ll work for the Planet one day,” Clark grins and Bruce’s breath catches just slightly, “He’s curious to a fault,” there is somehow an implied ‘like you’ underneath.

“Come on,” Clark protests, “that’s a pretty sterile description. “You can do better than that.” Bruce shrugs.

“You’re the reporter,” but there is warmth and humour in his tone, “Guess you’ll just have to tease it out of me.” Bruce sips his champagne, a smirk playing around his lips. Clark is acutely aware of how gay he is. “Look, Tim is a great kid. It’s hard to summarize a whole person in five minutes, though. Besides, is it really Tim you’re interested in?”

“Are you trying to get me fired Mr. Wayne?” Clark asks mildly.

“It’s Bruce,” Bruce corrects him, “And it would be a shame to lose contact with my favourite reporter.” Clark reminds himself that they just met like five minutes ago, and also that Bruce is probably straight. He raises both eyebrows.

“I bet you say that to all the reporters.” He accuses. Bruce smirks.

“Not as many as you’d think,” Clark’s chest is doing something very strange. He opens his mouth to say something in reply, he doesn’t really know what, when Bruce sees something from the corner of his eye and whips around. He makes a face.

“Excuse me a moment, I think I just saw a waiter giving Dick alcohol.”

“Better go catch him,” Clark grins, easy and genuine. Experienced as he is, Bruce is almost disarmed for a moment. He nods before going after his oldest son.


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce Wayne hates parties. He could be out breaking a man’s jaw right now, but instead he is smiling and nodding politely as an extremely beautiful woman, Celine he thinks, holds his arm and chatters his ear off. Although he would like to be drunk, Bruce is sipping his drink carefully. He never likes to be sloppy, particularly in a situation that could quickly turn dangerous. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his parties had been crashed by a supervillain.

Celine is stubbornly refusing to engage in any interesting conversation with him. It’s difficult to say whether she is actually this dull, or whether it is a pretense, but he suspects the latter. She isn’t particularly interested him, which means she’s either wants his money, to sleep with him, or both. She has created a facsimile of a woman she thinks he would desire. She has guessed wrong. Bruce doesn’t blame her in the slightest. He _does wish_ they could have an actual conversation though, because underneath the act she’s putting on, she seems intelligent and potentially interesting, and that would make the night go so much faster. He understands the masquerade, though. He’s running his own, after all.

Bruce listens with one ear and does surveillance on the crowd with the rest of his attention. That reporter from earlier, Kent- no Clark, is subtly canvassing his guests, probably trying to find his story. Bruce doesn’t really mind. He isn’t nearly as bad as some of the reporters, and the guests look like they enjoy talking to him, which is important. Bruce hates that these things have to be on his list of things to check up on. He can’t wait until he can get out of this suit and into his other one. Celine asks him something and he responds, a little too distantly for the persona he’s currently wearing. She looks put out, and Bruce grimaces, trying to pay more attention to her. Really though, he’s hoping that Clark has seen him looking, that he’ll come over again.

He’s in luck. Clark appears, almost by magic beside him.

“Hello again, Bruce.”

“Clark.” He inclines his head.

“I was wondering if I could steal you for a few minutes.”

“ _Absolutely yes, please take me somewhere immediately.”_ Bruce wants to say, but instead opts not to be a jackass. “Celine, do you mind?”

“Of course not,” she keeps the disappointment off of her face very well, and again, Bruce is curious. But she is recalcitrant, and now he is busy.

“Step out with me?” Clark asks, gesturing towards the balcony doors. Bruce thinks with some amusement about the double meaning that sentence might’ve had a couple decades ago. Ultimately, he dismisses it, and opens the doors to step out into the night. Clark follows him, wearing his characteristic grin. Clark Kent is a journalist. He is always very deliberate with his words.

The men stand on the balcony for a moment, companionable, not speaking. It is comfortable. Although the balcony is wide, they are close, shoulders brushing occasionally as they look up at the sky together. There is a moment of perfect silence as the door closes and the noise from inside is cut off.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Clark starts softly, reluctant to break this perfect country quiet.

“Late though,” Clark looks at him curiously, so Bruce elaborates, “The boys are still up.” That startles a quiet laugh out of Clark, which in turn surprises Bruce.

“That’s awfully paternal,” Clark tells him, “Bruce Wayne billionaire playboy isn’t getting reformed on us, is he?” Bruce makes a sound between a laugh and a snort.

“Not entirely.” Clark smiles.

“Thank God.”

They lapse into silence again. Bruce wants to ask why Clark has brought him out here, but he also doesn’t want to ruin the moment. But Bruce is Bruce, and pragmatism wins out. He’ll be missed inside if he’s gone too long.

“What do you need Clark?” He finally looks over at the other man, takes in his appearance as he waits for him to speak. Behind his glasses, Clark is an extremely attractive man. His jaw is perfectly sculpted. His eyes are a perfect, startling blue framed by thick black lashes. The glasses are clunky, but charming. Bruce has a strange and completely irrational desire to steal them. He supresses the thought immediately.

“You’re a hard man to know, Bruce,” Clark says casually. Bruce resists the urge to tell him that he has no idea.

“It’s good for my image,” he says instead.

“Mysterious bachelor,” Clark says thoughtfully, “Bruce Wayne, man or myth.” Bruce makes an interesting face, something displeased Clark thinks.

“Aren’t you here to write about my son?” His tone is still friendly.

“I’m here to write about this event.” Clark corrects him, “And Tim is much easier to get information on than you are, you know.” Bruce raises one skeptical eyebrow.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Clark replies, “He has this tendency to actually answer questions.” Bruce snorts.

“We’ll have to fix that.” The pause between them is shorter this time, Clark’s next question more intense.

“Why are you so secretive?” Clark presses again, “What are you hiding in your castle up here, a secret wife?” Bruce doesn’t mind Clark’s pushing. He’s funny, earnest, and from what Bruce can tell, well intentioned. He’s still not going to give him a straight answer though.

Clark watches, fascinated as Bruce’s expression changes to almost the same one he saw earlier, tilted head and bedroom eyes.

“I prefer to reserve my secrets for those I am more,” purposefully, he lingers on the word, “…intimate with.” Clark has conflicted feelings. One of melting into a pool of warm wax, and another of wanting to be annoyed at the dodge. He isn’t though. Yet it’s no wonder nobody knows anything about the man. Bruce is still wearing that expression as he leans forward slightly. For a brief, feverish moment, Clark wonders if Bruce is going to kiss him.

Glass shatters inside, and they practically jump apart. Bruce sighs and shuts his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I have to go see what that was,” he tells Clark. “Hopefully, it’s just Dick and not a crime in progress.” Bruce puts his hand on Clark’s wrist for just a second as he turns to go in. Clark’s exhalation is tiny, barely audible. The place where Bruce’s hand has been is warm. A phantom touch that lingers.

“Where is Tim?” Bruce demands, and Clark hears through the open door and maybe a touch of super hearing.

“No clue,” Dick answers cheerfully.

“You were supposed to be watching him,” Bruce mutters, “I should’ve had him watching you.” He sighs, clearly aggravated. “You’re being a real stick in the mud there, Boy Wonder.” Dick doesn’t reply, and Clark wonders if he heard, whether Bruce intended him to hear at all.

Of course, he then realizes that he has been eavesdropping rather intently. But this interaction was so different from the tone and mannerisms that Clark has heard him use throughout the night, that Clark’s curiosity is instantly piqued. He is still embarrassed about having overheard something so clearly private. Clark stops listening immediately.


	3. Chapter 3

Clark hangs around the rest of the night. He gathers enough information for his story. He spends a lot of time wondering what Dick and Tim are up to, and whether they’re as bored as he is, particularly given that they’re just kids.

Clark fills himself up on the fancy hors d'oeuvres. He’d like to drink more champagne, as he can’t get drunk, and it tastes fantastic, and like it costs three hundred dollars a bottle, but he’s driving home and needs to keep up appearances. Clark keeps trying to talk more with Bruce, but every time they get close, Bruce is snatched away at the last moment. Eventually Clark gives up. He still  wants to spend time with Bruce, but he also doesn’t want to look like a stalker. He figures that if he is reading things right, and Bruce really is interested, he’ll come looking on his own. Clark is almost disappointed.

It is now two a.m., much later than Clark ordinarily would’ve stayed. He hasn’t even seen Bruce in at least an hour. It’s time to give up, go home. Clark feels a little foolish for getting his hopes up. Bruce is probably in love with a woman, adventurous and aggressive and much wittier than he is.

Clark slips out quietly. There isn’t really anyone to say goodbye to. He doesn’t think anyone notices him go. It is a cold, lonely feeling. Right now, all he wants is to go home. He loiters on the steps as he waits for the valet to bring his car around, and tries not to mope. He knew it was a long shot. It had just felt so right. Clark didn’t know how he’d managed to misread things quite so badly.

The valet gets out of his car, and Clark thanks him as he searches his pockets for a tip. As he’s handing over a few rumpled bills, the doors behind him burst open. The valet blanches and disappears.

“Clark!” Bruce shouts breathlessly. “Clark, wait!” Clark stops and turns slowly, confused.

“Bruce, what’s the matter?” He asks, concern heavily colouring his tone.

“I-,” Bruce stops, and Clark gets to watch one of those changes. This time the transition is not to seduction, but to composure. Bruce takes a breath, smooths his hair. “I wanted to apologize for not getting a chance to speak with you more.” Clark smiles, some of the hurt bleeding out of him.

“There’s no need to apologize,” he assures Bruce, “running a party like that has to be hectic.” Bruce laughs a little breathlessly, relieved.

“You have no idea. I had to rescue Dick from a cougar trying to prey on him. He was drunk too, so I sent him to bed. I told Alfred not to hire these caterers again. I’ve no idea how many waiters Dick managed to charm drinks out of,” he sounds exasperated, “despite my _explicit_ instructions. I currently have no idea where Tim has disappeared to. Knowing him he’s probably not doing anything stupid.” Bruce sighs heavily. “Dick is enough of a handful on his own. Thank god Tim’s more responsible.” He frowns slightly, understanding the implicit wrongness of a thirteen year old being more responsible than someone four years older. He looks over at Clark with a long-suffering expression.

“Three children is _enough._ I am _done.”_ Despite himself, Clark laughs. This is the most human he’s seen Bruce all night.  “Forgive me?” Bruce asks.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Clark assures him. Later, he will think back on this night, marvel at how he got two apologies in under five minutes. It will never happen again. “Bruce I-don’t-know-your-middle-name-yet Wayne… you’re a bit of a mess, aren’t you?” He grins. Bruce huffs in reply.

“Says the man with the crooked bowtie.” Clark blushes. It spreads all the way up to the tips of his ears.

“It’s been like that all night, hasn’t it?” He asks, defeated.

“Yes.” Bruce replies bluntly, adding, “it gets worse when you play with it.” Clark is midway through pulling on the tie again, and drops his hands immediately. Bruce does that soft slow laugh, and Clark wonders how it is they only just met. It feels like they’ve known each other for years. “Let me.” Bruce says, and then Clark is holding very still as Bruce adjusts the slip of silk around his neck. Both of them are surprised by the intimacy of that moment.

“You know bowties,” Clark murmurs, somehow mystified by the knowledge of this normal thing.

“My butler doesn’t do _everything_ for me,” Bruce informs him, smiling slightly. He has fixed the tie, but doesn’t remove his hands. One drifts to Clark’s shoulder, the other rises. Bruce’s hands are cool and gently on his face, his jaw, as he tips Clark’s head to just the right angle for kissing. He lins in and Clark feels frozen in time. Bruce’s lips hover just a breath from Clark’s own. Bruce stills.

“Yes?” He asks, clearly seeking permission. Clark responds by bridging the distance between them. They press together, and the kiss is slow and sweet and entirely unlike anything he could have anticipated. Bruce holds him closely, pressing their chests together. Then Bruce catches Clark’s lower lip, biting it gently. That is a little too much for Clark to handle, and he pushes Bruce back just a bit, breaking their kiss, but not their embrace.

“Sorry,” Bruce says, his cheeks just touched with pink.

“I thought you liked women,” Clark blurts. Of course, that would be the first thing that comes out of his mouth after kissing Bruce freaking Wayne. Being kissed by Bruce Wayne. The man isn’t perturbed though, he just laughs a little.

“Not just women,” he answers, “bisexual.”

“Oh,” Clark replies, feeling a little stupid. He runs his fingers through Bruce’s dark hair and tugs him closer. Clark’s lips are parted, and this close he can smell Bruce’s expensive aftershave. It is intoxicating. He wants to live in this moment forever.

“Are you coming?” Clark asks in a moment of bravery, his hand resting on the handle of his still idling car. Bruce smirks.

“I don’t fuck on first dates.” Bruce says, stepping back. The curse sounds so strange coming from him. Clark can’t help it, confusion and disbelief showing plainly on his face. “That’s tabloids,” Bruce informs him. “I like to take a little longer with people I’m actually interested in.”

“Okay,” Clark agrees. His expression is soft, eyes wide. His hair is ruffled. Clark is just silently turning over the phrase ‘people I’m actually interested in’. And even though they’ve just kissed, it still seems hard to believe. Clark is wonderstruck. Bruce leans in and kisses Clark lightly on the cheek. From him it seems almost old fashioned, unfathomably romantic.

“I’ll call you,” Bruce murmurs, his breath warm on Clark’s cheek. Clark nods weakly.

“Bye,” Clark practically whispers as Bruce steps away and Clark gets into his car. Earlier he probably would’ve been embarrassed. First by his lack of social graces, and secondly by his car, but somehow Clark didn’t think Bruce cared much. He drives slowly, carefully down the gravel path. When he looks back, Bruce is standing on the steps of the manor as light spills out around him, hands casually in his pockets as he watches Clark go. Clark turns to face the road again and can’t resist letting out a small excited shout. His face is beet red. Bruce Wayne is going to call him. And beyond the wealth and the face, which are really nice, and appreciated extras, Clark has a deep burning curiosity about the man. He knows that he has only seen what Bruce has wanted him to, and that makes him want more.

God, he must be crazy, going for this. Clark touches his lips, runs his fingers over the cheek that Bruce kissed. His smile is big and dopey, and he doesn’t even care. Clark will be thinking about that kiss all the way home.


End file.
